


Cerberusson

by Bookdragon6660



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, Gay Male Character, Gay Panic, M/M, Night Vale Community Radio, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookdragon6660/pseuds/Bookdragon6660
Summary: After getting flung through a less than magical mirror portal (pool?) trying to escape heaven's wrath and landing a job as a radio intern in the most cryptic and dystopian town in the U.S. Buccannan was ready for a break. what he got instead was a major crush on his employer's son (whos a fae apparently?) and a naga roommate(hella sarcastic). He wasn't even in the universe where the Winchester's existed anymore and crazy shit was happening. This was going to be interesting.A Penumbra Archives spinoff.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Kudos: 1





	1. Sting like a Demon.

The Cambion shivered _He thought hazily as he slipped into the diner and sat in the corner booth overlooking the entirety of his newfound shelter. The Cambion dug into the tattered cloak pocket and pulled out 3$.  
“Fuck”   
He mumbled, took a deep breath and ordered a sandwich. He waited for a while before he felt a twinge of something in the atmosphere. It felt large and cleansing, it stung every fiber of his being. When the sandwich came the Cambion he wolfed it down without a second thought of such energy. Until he saw a tall, pale stranger with a crucifix necklace slide into the booth seat next to him. Uncomfortably close and pinning him between himself and the wall.   
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” The stranger’s smirk was gilded.   
“No, but I broke a few nails crawling out of hell” the Cambion retorted shoving the tall man aside to escape the oncoming claustrophobia. The last thing he needed was to lose control. The stranger then grabbed the Cambion’s arm and grinned predatorily.   
“Let me buy you a drink.” he prodded.   
“Or,” the Cambion offered with a cocky smirk on his face, chuckling. ” You could fuck off entirely!” He then shoved the arm away and began to walk out of the diner.   
“Oh, come on, why not go out with me? It's not like any other guy will choose you after they know what you are!”   
The Cambion gave his pursuer the bird and then caught one end of the blade just in time to not be eviscerated were he stood.   
he thought intelligently.   
“I offered you an easy way out, but now you leave me no choice” the angelic assassin arrogantly announced.   
The other patrons of the diner watched in horror as the Cambion flung his assailant over his shoulder. Then proceeded to pull an obsidian scythe out of thin air and plunge it into the chest of the entity before him. The wound, mouth, and eyes began to glow with a bright blue pale light. The stench of charring flesh filled the air as a deafening ringing sound cut its way into every eardrum in a ten-mile radius. The heavens screamed in grief at the loss of another angel, he was not the first, he would not be the last. _

_The Cambion spun uselessly and tried to recover.  
“What the hell was that?!” a frightened human chief exclaimed   
Several patrons made their way over to the burned-out husk of a devout man.   
“What in the hell even are you?!” another human asked desperately   
The Cambion’s hood had fallen back, revealing Smokey red and purple eyes and two goat horns resting and curved handsomely around his face. _

_“Out of this Shit-hole" Buccannan Cerberousson explained indignantly as he sauntered out of the diner with the ruined floor. Few funds and weapon in tow._


	2. float like an angle

Sweat beaded off the Cambion’s brow as he staggered ceaselessly through the dessert without direction. Clutching his weapon and using it as a walking stick. It softly hit the sand with an inaudible thud as Buccannan heaved himself through an endless vast of sand, sun and,  
Buccannan thought miserably as he lumbered along.   
He couldn't even teleport to the nearest town. For he had no idea where civilization lay, much less wherein the general direction he should go when such a spell scrabbled his molecules. The Cambion needed shade, as an umbrakenetic this much sun on any given day was not helpful. It would only serve to weaken him further if the sun did not set soon. For his unnatural gifts fed off the night and darkness, the brilliance high above him was draining, consuming and disabling.   
It was not long after that when Bucannan's vision began to swim and his knees began to buckle, the scythe he had been using as a walking stick beginning to fall out of one of his drenched hands. He didn’t want to die like this, but his eyelids fluttered dangerously between consciousness and oblivion. He had walked a long way. The cambion thought he deserved some rest, just for a few moments.   
That was before he saw the billboard. ’Welcome to Nightvale’ it read in white letters. There seemed to be an eye in the center above the letters ingrained on two shades of purple and the pupil in the center was a white crescent moon, out looking shapes that appeared to be buildings. Particularly a water tower and a home with a satellite antenna on its side. Left of that were power lines cascading into the outer edges of the introductory presentation of the town, and possibly going far beyond that.   
He picked up his weapon and placed it back into his dimension with much strain. Pushed himself forward out of pure wrath of what had just happened to him. Buccannan had suffered too much to end like this. The cambion would not die, not by the sun, Celestia be dammed. It appears he had lost more energy than he had originally thought. That would put a damper on things, he didn’t know how he was to earn a living without his magic. or even defend himself from avenging angles. It was just then the cambion saw a ‘help wanted' poster in the window of what appeared to be a radio station. As he wandered forward with dwindling strength, Good enough for Buccannan.   
Buccannan thought to swagger into the building. Darker and cooler than the atmosphere surrounding him now. Significantly more inviting.   
Smirk in place, shoulders back, eyes scanning, stomach in complete knots. It felt like the sandwich he had devoured a dozen hours ago. the perfect cover. It was then that he was met by the man at the front desk. Blonde, medium stature, and had his face turned buried in the screen of the desk’s residing computer. He looked up.   
“You here for the internship?” he asked barely sparing a glance up at the teen, not noticing or caring about his horns. Buccannan looked old for his age, something he learned could be used to his advantage. In more ways than one.   
“Yes, where do I begin?” the cambion uttered hesitantly. What would he even need? What would be asked of him? He fluttered his shirt and chest, then flattened it with both his hands. And tried to breathe. He felt his horns spark with dark panicked energy. Let's hope he had enough for, Yes! Buccannan conjured up a single sheet of paper. A resume... he hoped, having only a rudimentary of his magical conjuring abilities it was often impossible to tell certain objects transferred from pure dark antimatter and mutated into any object the human eye could see.  
Buccannan felt his head immediately swim, he grabbed uselessly in the air as he fumbled for a chair. His breath was becoming harder and harder to come by, knees buckling beneath him, squinting as his eyes tried to shield his brain from the offensive rays of light.   
“You okay?” the computer man asked. Full attention on the ‘teen’, eyebrows furrowed. He stepped out of his desk and tried to place a hand gently on the cambion’s shoulder. With the intent to guide him over to a chair located at the corner of the room.   
Buccannan seized up and backpedaled into a wall as soon as he felt the other male’s hand.   
“Sorry, sorry, shouldn’t have done that let me get you a glass of water.” the same man continued.   
“Thanks.” Buccannan wheezed. Looking up bashfully as both his reaction and his lack of composure.”Sorry” he apologized when the man came back with a water bottle and a wave of his hand at the apology, plopping in the chair next to him.   
“Don't be! You just got a little anxious, happens to the best of us, I was a mess at my interview here.” the man that works at the desk casually, chuckling when he got to the end, a wide grin plastered across his face.   
Bucannan didn’t say anything. He just stared straight ahead and took a sip of his water.   
“I should go get Cecil, he's the one you're supposed to talk to for the interview.” the man then patted Buccannan’s chest, stood up and made a beeline into the nearby booth. he winced and crossed his arms to better soothe his growing worried about what the man at the computer just discovered.


	3. The Interview

The cambion walked shakily into the room. In the center was a desk, upon the desk was a fern, microphone, and pain of folded hands. The hands were connected to a body, the body connected to ahead, and a voice. Cecil Gershwin Palmer sat at the desk in the center of the room. His baritone voice greeted Buccannan’s ears with chilling calm.   
“Hello, I'm Cecil. Welcome to Nightvale community radio station.” the oral Journalist spoke with a voice like distant traffic and stong coffee at midnight. He smiled and everything about him made Buccannan’s skin crawl with fear and anticipation.   
“Hello. I-'m here for an interview” Buccannan finched both internally and externally at his anxiety. Why was he so terrified? It was just an interview. He was good at this, good at talking, good at lying, good at pretending to be something he's not. But, when did that ever make his life any easier?   
“Perfect! Do you have a resume?” Cecil continued, waving his hands through the air theatricality as he spoke.   
“Yes.” buccannan deadpanned as he handed the paper to the older man.   
Cecil took it with a quick thanks before reading over its contents. It was still warm, something he told himself was either from the printer or the sun. Given the pristine condition of the paper and the younger man’s...for the lack of a better word frazzled ness. It was most likely freshly printed, better ask.   
”Did you have this printed upfront?”   
the last thing Cecil needed was an ill-prepared intern. The guy already from the look of it had come here after a pretty strenuous workout, out of breath no less, not professional, hell not even that polite either. He smelled like he just crawled out of the gates of hell itself, or even better fallen from somewhere very high from a portal of some kind and landed in the middle of nearly nowhere and walked until he found the radio station that he was now in.   
“Kind of” Buccannan responded without thinking.   
“Okay.” Cecil breathed, getting aggravated. “What do you believe are your best attributes that will aid in the development of this company?”   
“I think that I would be helpful to this company because I present an ability to gather information efficiently and accurately from a variety of sources, have exceptional writing capabilities and skills along with vast background knowledge in journalism due to my bachelor's degree in the subject,” Buccannan smirked as he spoke, allowing his shoulders relax and allow his improvisational training and pseudo degree do most of the talking. Where there was information, there was a library. His heart then sank to his stomach when he realized that would require him to read.   
Something he would too excel at if the letters would just... stop. if that was even something he could excuse for himself, no one ever believe that was the problem. Come to think of it, he was just lazy.   
Cecil nodded as he spoke.tapping his foot incessantly to better pay attention. He thought this kid was full of shit. He tried to see the best in everyone, he truly did. But reading off your resume word for word? Rookie mistake, not one you can make many places and get away with it. Cecil also couldn't help but notice the way the younger ‘man’ (Buccannan didn’t look older than a mature 16-year-old) kept looking at his empty wrapper from lunch. The oral journalist could see the gears in his head turning as he pieced together the puzzle in front of him. Hmmm, let's see, looked like hell warmed over, unprepared, young, not in school for some god-awful reason, lying to get the job, terrified. Oh. Oh! Yea there was no way this kid wasn’t getting the job. If he had come here alone, then he was probably desperate, on the run, and hungry. He recognized that look, knew where it stemmed from. An intern several years ago enlightened him once he got close enough to his employer. It wouldn’t be identical obviously, situations like that never were. It was different from his own after all, his sanctuary was in his home town. He had plenty of people to disappoint here. Best to not dwell on that though. He had plenty to worry about right now, after all, a mysterious letter burst into flame. Out of flame? He didn't know and he could honestly deal with it later. It was something Carlos would like anyway. Thinking of his husband made this easier to manage. Carlos was going to be so adorable when he was trying to understand what it was exactly, something to look forward to later.   
“Alright!” Cecil explained, grabbing his cane and wincing as he got up. “Welcome to Nightvale.” the older man stuck his hand out the Cambion who shook it gratefully.   
“Thank you, sir!” Buccannan spoke enthusiastically. His entire face lighting up in relief and satisfaction. “When do I begin?”   
“Glad you are so eager to work! We can start in the break room. I'm afraid my husband packed me too much today! Would you like some? You can know if you're hungry.” The oral babbled, eyes smiling trying to leave the other reassured.   
Buccacannan’s gaze turned to the ground as he spoke softly. “I wouldn’t want to impose sir.” the Cambion’s stance stiffened slightly, afraid to make a move.   
“what?” Cecil asked not hearing but not understanding the question until oh, wait that’s right.   
Buccacnnan began again obviously not being heard. “I wouldn’t want to impose si-”   
“oh, its no trouble!” Cecil interrupted. Smiling still with tight lips, screaming internally.   
Buccacannan nodded and took the Tupperware container sat down at the plastic fold-out table before him. On it was a note that read ‘replace before-’ the date had been scribbled out several times, replaced by endless question marks. Its white base was covered in a myriad of colors, red, brown and yellow to just name a few. He ate and stared at nothing, chewing without tasting. The first moment he had had to himself (mostly) to relatively relax and oh stars did his backache. A sharp pain shot up his back and into his arms as he continued to chew. The base of his skull pounded and was barely with so much as   
“been meaning to replace that.” Cecil spoke up, pointing to the table as he spoke. Tapping the handle of his walking cane with a thumb nervously as he spoke. His knees and ankles sent small waves of pain to his brain and then cascading throughout his entire body. He should sit down, he didn’t wanna run out of spoons. Taking the table’s only other remaining fold out chair and sitting down across from the younger man. Plopping down with a small grunt and turning to address buccannan.   
“so! Once you're finished, would you mind the tour of the place!?!” Cecil asked.  
Buccannan snapped back to focus, winced. Only to catch the concern of his employer. He hid his guilt of it behind a smirk and agreed politely, much to the joy of Cecil who did nothing but talk habitually, it was how he became the radio host after all.   
The tour was what you would expect. One person shows you the area in which you need to understand. You will often pretend that you do. If your getting paid its essential. The person giving the tour will not notice, but they will try to be helpful. They may even forgive you for not knowing your way around the first few days. Or they might think you don’t care about your job long enough to learn. It depends on the person.   
The person receiving the opposite job. They need to both listen to what is being said and absorb the information. The person they are receiving the tour from explains the area you need to understand. You need to pretend not to notice the floating can in the washroom. You will probably fail and the conversation will proceed as follows;   
“Why is there a floating cat in the men’s washroom?”   
“unisex bathroom actually and that’s Koscheck. He's my baby boy and I love him!”   
Cecil then began to coo over the creature who emitted a deep, ominous, rumble from every corner of the bathroom. If you weren't mortified by it, one of two things was apparent. You were either dead, or a capitalist worn employee of Nightvale community radio station. Cecil giggled at this and began to scratch behind the feline's ears. He was careful to avoid the venomous spikes on his back and not directly touch the exposed skull of the monstrous entity, unmanageably large darker than the void itself.   
“why is the mirror covered?” Buccannan inquizited as he noticed the canvas coating space above the facet and sink.trying to draw attention away from... whatever that thing was before him.   
“Oh, I don’t like mirrors very much!” Cecil frantically explained, his gaze not meeting Buccannan’s as it had for all the other answers provided.   
“Why did you say unisex bathroom? Arnt bathrooms separated by gender?” Buccannan inquired, eyebrows furrowed, hands half clenched. His back still ached.   
“Not in Nightvale as of Sherrif sam’s selection. They didn’t feel comfortable in those spaces and they had the opportunity to ensure that anyone who felt similarly to them on the matter felt more comfortable in their community. I take it to you are not from here so I should elaborate but we should move on.” Cecil babbled helpfully as he exited the bathroom.   
“What ARE your pronouns? I only ask because I don’t want to assume.” the radio turned to the intern as they approached the financial wing of the journalistic district.   
“ummmmm” Buccannan gaped, a little shocked he had been asked in the first place.”I'm a boy- I I mean I'm a man!” the cambion stumbled his throat closing up as he fanned his chest with his shirt nervously.   
“so I'm guessing he and him then if I am not mistaken?” Cecil responded inquisitively.   
“Yes.” Buccannan blurted eyes darting toward the floor. Stars! He hated this. The fact that he couldn't coak himself with his magic made it all the worse. It simply wasn’t safe like this. He didn’t know when they would be here next.   
“Okay! I'm the same actually if you don’t mind!” Cecil continued smoothly as they entered.   
It was a rather average wing of money for what Buccannan could see. Looking inside the open doorway he could see a large stack of paperwork on each of the desks.   
“wow! That’s a mountain of paperwork! Must have been a good quarter!” Buccannan commented jovially attempting to make conversation.   
“Please keep your political opinions at home mr.cerberusson we have journalism to do.” Cecil sighed irritably. Attempting to remain both neutral and respectful. Cecil realized that in his old age the world had changed in ways he would never be able to comprehend because kids these days are stupid. He had grown up enough to know that!   
“What mountains?” Buccannan shot back confused. Brows furrowed at the older man beside him.   
“I don’t personally believe in them because I think they're an abomination. But that’s just me and my beliefs. This is the financial district, not social hour. We should move on.” the radio host grumbled curtly as he pointed his cane toward the sigh on the door reading ‘finances’. Harshly placing the but of his cain on the ground and grunted slightly as he used his mobility aid to push himself along the hallway to another area of the station. Gripping it tightly the whole time. Leaving Buccannan confused and in his tracks.   
The cambion was left to quickly and with great difficulty to try and stay at Cecil's side as they made their way to station management's office.   
‘this is where the boss works, they don’t get out much’ Cecil explained further   
‘unless the feeding time is nigh’ Buccannan shot back.   
‘No, we'll have to report on the casualties if that happens’ Cecil replied   
Buccannan kept his mouth shut after that.   
'im joking! wed be first' the radio host monotoned. rubbing his thumb over the handle of the cane as he hesitantly rolled his shoulders to reduce the building tension. Assuming that Buccannan was silent out of respect for his new god- he meant boss, yup definitely boss, nothing to be concerned about here. everything would be fine.


	4. Contradiction

Everything was not fine but after that, they settled into an understanding of Buccannan’s role as the intern the real work began. It was difficult for the cambion to gauge when his brain forced him to decode everything backward but struggle he might he could not lose this job. Being someone in a large political stance as journalism gave him access and protection. This world thrived off of pure hard work and integrity from all he had gathered from his multidimensional studies (thankfully a spoken lecture) he would survive if he won their favor if he became their rights the American people would fight for him to stay against all odds. It was their way, and he needed their rage to dampen his own. The Erikas could not destroy what God had blessed, so Buccannan came to America.   
Buccannan sat at his new desk. It was a small, and luster with black legs and a stool to sit atop of, upon his throne of the internship was a laptop and a company anointed water bottle. Slouched over the seat he squinted as his assignment and notes with a seething hatred for the written word. The base of his horns throbbing in pain from the fluorescents above. He needed a pair of sunglasses, or to have a freak work accident to shut off the lights alone so candlelight would be tolerable. Buccannan's magic reserves dwindled each passing day shift at this office. It would not kill him to have none of his natural ability left buccannan had discovered but he wouldn't be nearly as productive when the magic stopped numbing the gaping wounds were his wings would have been the cambion doubted he would be able to walk properly after such a permanent disfigurement. Silently cursing the Erikas as Buccannan needed his still aching eyes he stood up shakily to shut the lights off, palmer’s complaints be dammed he could either see or have this fanfic edited. Buccannan was entirely certain that it wasn’t in his job description but pissing off the man who kept extra red bulls in the fridge and ‘accidentally’ packed an extra sandwich every day to slide the interns' way wasn’t the wisest option, even by his impulsive standards. After the cambion spent a good 30 seconds or so regaining his bearings he stumbled his way to the light switch with a satisfying flick as the world around him was enveloped in merciful inky darkness as his horns lit up to suture his back up further. (what hadn't scabbed over from the previous night) he winced as the skin tightened further, now only scarred tissue remained. Stumbling back to his dest he rested his eyes in the heels of his hands and scraping whatever composure he had left to finish his work. A shuddered sigh left Buccannan as the cambion weakly turned back to his computer screen. This continued for he didn't know how long until the light was flashed back with an ignorant but albeit slightly concerned hand. Buccannan’s mind screamed as he reeled and grimaced, now exposed to the unforgiving luminescence once again.   
‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’ Cecil asked   
‘needed to concentrate, you wanted those papers done today didn’t you?’ he replied with a barely masked composure as the manuscript was offered once again to the author with a twirl of the wrist. It ached but not enough for pause or hindrance. He couldn't afford to.   
‘Okay? You feel alright?’ Cecil took the manuscript back from the intern with a cocked eyebrow.   
‘fine fine, you need anything else, boss?’ Buccannan replied curtly.   
‘No, I was just about to go on break. You should actually.’ Cecil added with a kind smile shutting the door behind him and flipping the switch off as he egressed the room. 

Buccannan took a sandwich and ravenously chewed as he skimmed the next broadcast notes on his laptop as they were read back to him in a mechanical voice. Comprehending the material much quicker and significantly less painful. Grateful for the lack of toil needed the cambion realized that he enjoyed this part. The sorting and importance of his work made him satisfied and more secure. Things began to make sense as he slowly came to peace with the things about his new living arrangements and workplace that had not existed in any right previously. Such as the floating cat in the bathroom that snarled in a howl of rage and disgust at the sight of anyone. This included the radio host and proudly self-proclaimed ‘dad’ of the little feline. His Husband Carlos (who was allergic and needed Benadryl whenever he visited the station the intern would come to find) doted on Khoshekh just as much as Cecil did. This was a topic that the cambion took with a pound of salt and a large glass of chagrin at the thought that the creature simply despised him and only him. If he couldn’t get this cat to like him how was he supposed to do his job effectively or use the facilities, his tentacles spread in wild blind fury anywhere at Buccanann within a 10 feet radius.   
This was just one of the many perks of being a Nightvale intern. He wasn’t looking forward to having attended press conferences in Cecil's stead when he left for a long weekend family emergency. Something- something his son didn’t feel well. Not that he cared but bucannan had zero clue on how to run the show without him or even turn on the bloodstone emergency power when station management got to hectic or someone let finance get ahold of birthday cake. Why they had switched the perfectly qualified and competent humans with even more computers. And why the janitor kept stuffing cake in them was a mystery to the intern. But he had a job to do and it was this so he would need to establish a routine on an average day here if he wanted to survive.


	5. Chapter 5

9:00 am is when the workday in Nightvale begins. For most people yes this is indeed the case. They drink coffee and listen to municipally approved stations on their wat down the highway to their jobs. So you would think that the radio employees would need to start much earlier. Like no more insane than 8:30 right? You dear reader would be wrong.   
Buccannan was an intern a the Nightvale community radio station. His morning started at 5:00 am before the sun rose. On the dot every day. His boss Cecil Gershwin palmer had the luxury of coming in at 8:00 am just before they went on the air and the beloved station pet Koscheck was already usually snoozing away with a belly full of food, completely content and definitely not savoring the taste of blood if Buccanann rolled up his sleeves in the middle of the midwestern desert heat. Such a feline would be doted on endlessly by both the radio host and his husband the scientist. Much to the repugnance of the intern who watched from afar as the ghoulish abomination from the ‘miscellaneous’ cat breed was praised endlessly by the married couple. The little creature dared to look innocent and purr whenever those two were around but glowered and snapped at Buccannan for trying to feed him. Their relationship was one of mutual visceral hatred and functionality.   
He had many other duties to fill at the radio station like cleaning up coffee grounds left by his eccentric employer, interviewing townsfolk for information on the most interesting and important stories in Nightvale like the horoscopes and traffic just to name a few.   
“Here you go!” Cecil exclaimed cheerily, plopping a small stack of relative immaculate scribble down on the intern’s desk as he edited the children’s fun fact science corner.   
“What's this?” Buccannan broke his attention away briefly to flip through the new manuscript. A slight look of trepidation and concern for his other assignments.   
"the newest installment of my fanfiction! Do you have the time too go over it and edit it?" Cecil asked.   
Buccannan took a quick look at his schedule the new stack of the manuscript and his current project shrugged looked up at his employer and sighed. "Ill see what I can do."   
"Thanks!” Cecil exclaimed with gratitude as he pushed his cane into the radio booth to begin work for the day. Spinning in a swivel chair made of a mostly plush surface as he began with a cryptid statement from beyond the haze of his morning coffee. Buccannan took his position in the control center and began editing the Hannable short story in front of him. He was going to go cross check some of the data before he realized it was from the movies and making a note to appreciate the respect his boss took into trying to mention gender identities that were not his own. The note about the last attempt at a description of it was noted.   
Buccannan sighed a quick ‘lunch break’ to his boss from across the glass. And went to the silent dark of the filing room and leaned against the wall. His arm had started aching earlier that day and from the look, he could get from the bandages leaking a sickeningly familiar yellow puss. he needed to heal it with a spell. Shutting the door behind him. Hoping no one saw as the cambion allowed his horns to absorb the inky blackness all around him. This coated the affected area as a salve until he felt the pain dissipate. Exiting the room quickly and quietly as the cambion made his way to his desk to mindlessly scroll through Cecil's blog and to announce the coming of a new short work in progress. An arm covered expertly by his uniform shirt and jacket. Grateful for station management's cheap habit of simply turning it on full blast. It certainly covered the dark misty substance coming from underneath their office that suddenly reminded Buccannan to take that bucket of honey oats and dried undetermined animal eyes and place it near the door. Satisfied, everything went on as usual when Cecil hoped back on the mic to momentarily change it to traffic that was prerecorded so that Cecil could sneak a surprise picnic out to his husband. Sighing a quick ‘are you okay?’ to Buccannan as he noticed the color slightly drained from his face. Trying to prepare the mobile broadcaster for the last half of the show. Buccannan played it off as late night and hoped no more questions would be asked.   
Cecil winced as he tried to loosen up his already painfully tight joints. Looking at the thermostat with envy and desire.   
“I'll see what I can do about the temperature boss. You have fun on your date.” Buccannan chimed as he handed Cecil his finished remainder of the script for the day and a herbal tea with a splash of honey.   
“Anyone ever tells you that you are a godsend Buccannan?” Cecil sighed in relief.   
“Something like that” the cambion replied with a smirk. Thinking about the Redbull he was gonna drink for dinner. Feeling completely drained from the light seeping in from the windows, head aching and knees weak from the strain, the ever-present stinging and stabbing of his back never truly leaving.  
Cecil called an uber as Buccannan cleaned up for the day with wishes for him to call it an early day.   
Bucannan the Nightvale radio intern goes home at 3:00 pm every day. Just in time for station management to wake up to a slightly more heated dwelling. Enraged but too full to do more than slip back into a food semi-coma. Koscheck sat pechalenty hovering above his litter box. Buccannan dodged a tentacle with a glare before disposing of the soiled clumps a locking up shortly after that.   
‘vindi, vidi, vici’ Buccannan said to himself for no particular reason, wanting to look cool as hell for any guys that could potentially be interested. He didn't even know what it meant but he was in a good mood because his day went well so he didn't care.


End file.
